Its three a.m.; and my week doesn't seem to end. Who would have thought, when coming through those glass doors, that he would be really fortunate, who would be able to make it back home before its morning. I sometimes wonder; how an eight hour day might look like, for, its us, who create the culture of nights out in office. It has become quite pronounced of late. Those going to eat are looked upon as those 'living to eat' rather than the other way round. Those who skip lunch or dinner, as I just have, today, are seen as the true workaholics; appraised for their sheer commitment. Anybody leaving at the end of eight hours; oh! this guy seems to be out of work, 'on the bench', says corporate jargon. Substitutes, they are treated as. I hear of work culture in the US. They leave at five sharp, it seems, not one soul in sight after five minutes past five. Except, of course, our dearest onsite co-ordinators, who keep slogging their behinds off, in hope of, i don't know what. There was a time when I used to look down upon such guys; well!whaddaya know! I am one of them.